


This Explains a Lot

by littlebirdtoldme



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Not super Graphic, but graphic enough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-11 02:40:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12925575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlebirdtoldme/pseuds/littlebirdtoldme
Summary: A series of snippets into the past of Barakus Dracame, a tiefling storm sorcerer from an elven city who learned early in life that the citizens expected lies and deceit from his kind - and lived a life that only served to prove them right.





	1. Age Ten - Brotherly Love

“Barry - Barry, wait!”  
Barakus sighed, and turned in a huff. “Sol, go home!” He crossed his arms and pouted in a way that, on any normal 10 year old, would look adorable. On the tiefling however, there was something slightly more menacing. Not that the child could help it, of course, such was his nature, but it meant he had to work even harder to befriend others his age, and he was not about to let his stupid brother ruin that. “Why can’t you find your own friends, huh? These are my friends who I found and I’m just your kid brother. You can’t follow me round everywhere, you have to find people yourself, mum said so too, remember?”  
Solomon’s face fell slightly, his tail drooping behind him. Barakus felt a brief sting, but shook it off - he knew he was right, Solomon was 12 now, and older than him, and he was just such a killjoy. The other children didn’t like his company, and Barakus couldn’t let his brother ruin his chances of finding friends.  
He sighed again. “Look, I think dad wanted help with the gardens. Why don’t you go, you know you’re way better at it than me.”  
Solomon eyed him suspiciously. “You don’t just want me out of the way?”  
Barakus narrowed his eyes. “I mean, yes, but that’s not the point. The point is that dad does need help. And we both know I’m never gonna be any good at that stuff. So… Why don’t we just both do what we’re good at? You help dad, and I’ll make friends.” Pausing barely long enough to see the hurt cross Solomon’s face, the younger brother turned on his heel and held his head high as he walked towards the city gates, resisting the urge to look back at the boy he knew was now walking sadly back towards their family home. He refused to feel bad: he had things to do, and Sol would just ruin it all.  
Barakus barely glanced at the guards as he entered the city. He didn’t need to: he was all too familiar, even at his age, of the disdainful expressions that were the standard greeting to him and his family. He glanced around, eager to find the elven children he’d finally started to get through to despite the prejudice of their parents, and grinned as he spotted a familiar face a few hundred feet away.  
“Yowry!” Barakus ran towards the young wood elf and the small group with him. Yowry froze and turned towards Barakus with an expression that he couldn’t place.  
“Oh. It’s you.”  
The tiefling’s smile faltered slightly. “Uh - yeah! You said that I could…?” His voice trailed away with his smile as he took in the air of tension and distrust around the group, saw the hardened eyes of the other young elves, and felt a wave of dread wash over him. Barakus refused not to let his tail drop in disappointment, or flick in annoyance. He wouldn’t show them weakness.  
“Alright. My mistake, I guess.” He glanced briefly at Yowry, who was looking uncomfortably between the tiefling and his fellow elves, before turning and walking back towards the gates showing the confidence he didn’t have, and hiding the cares he had. He barely broke his stride when the pebble struck the back of his head, between the tips of his still short horns.  
“Half devil!”  
The insult, though familiar, stung more than the blow had. Barakus continued walking, refusing to look back, although whether that was to hide that he cared or the tears in his eyes, even the boy wasn’t sure.


	2. Age Sixteen - Power Comes from Within

“Step aside, devil-spawn.” The command was spat out by the elven guard, and before he could react he was stumbling from the shove that came barely a moment after the disdainful words. Barakus took a few sheepish steps to the side. “I- I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his teenage awkwardness shining through at the perfect moment. The elf glanced back at him and paused, his expression a mix of amusement and disgust at the young tiefling. “Damn should be. This city is not for you or your kind, you’d best understand that. If it’s not elven, it’s not wanted.” He sneered down, and Barakus winced slightly. “You and your damned family should get back to the hells.” He turned and strode away, leaving Barakus in the wake of the insults that were thrown at him near every day. The tiefling sighed, and continued on his way.  
It wasn’t long until something caught his attention. He froze in place, head cocked slightly to one side, straining to listen. Cries for help from a nearby alley - nothing new, of course, when the Vanator wanted their fun - but there was something odd, and he couldn’t…  
Infernal. Usually, the shouts were in Common, but these were in the language of the hells, his language, and before he could talk sense into himself he was running to the source of the noise.  
He rounded the corner, skidding to a halt and nearly stumbling to the ground. “Hey - hey!” he called out, with much more courage than he felt. The half-dozen elven guards before him stopped, and turned to the newcomer. As they stepped aside, Barakus gasped at the sight of a tiefling woman on the floor, shielding her face, her clothes stained with streaks of blood that could only be her own. She wasn’t familiar, but that wasn’t the point.  
“Well, well, well,” grinned one of the guards, looking between his companions and the skinny boy before him. “If it isn’t little Barry. Come to defend your kind, eh?” He stepped forward, and Barakus fought the urge to step backwards in response. “Nothing you can do here, kid. Now run along, before we decide we need something more to entertain us.” He turned back to the woman on the ground and pulled her up, reeling his fist back to land a blow on her face -  
“No!”  
Barakus voice boomed out, louder than was naturally possible. The guard paused and dropped the woman to the ground, who looked to Barakus in fear. He barely realised what he’d done until the guard stalked up to him, towering over the boy’s slight frame.  
“No?” he growled under his breath. Barakus shrank away from the elf, but he grabbed him by the horn and pulled him up to an uncomfortable closeness, so close that Barakus could feel the hot, angry breath of the man on his face. “And who the fuck do you think you are, to tell me no?” He whirled, and threw Barakus to the ground by the woman, who pulled him protectively closer to her. Barakus could feel his heart pounding in his chest, every instinct he had telling him to run, but he knew it would be of no use. The guard grinned to the others. “Well lads, look like our fun just doubled.” He knelt down to Barakus amidst the jeers and taunts of the other guards. “Maybe next time, hellspawn, you’ll think twice before messing in Vanator business.”  
Barakus barely saw the fist before it landed in his face. The blinding pain made him cry out, and he heard the woman shout something, but she was cut off by a further blow from another guard. Wiping the blood from his face, Barakus was glancing round for an escape route when he felt a foot slam into his abdomen. Groaning in pain, he curled up as blow after blow struck him, sapping the strength from his bones, making him wish he had some way - any way - to fight back, defend himself. He heard the flick of a knife, but before he could react, the sharp and unfamiliar pain of the blade slashed down over his eye and cheek, sending warm blood down his face. He felt his pain, his anger, burn and boil inside him, taking over for but a moment, and with a vicious yell he grabbed the hand that had cut him, and sharp bolts of lightning sparked from his fingers and into the guard. The elf yelped and jumped back, cursing out the boy, but a slightly apprehensive expression took over as he held his now bloodied knife over the pair of tieflings. Glancing at his companions, he backed up slightly. “Fun’s over, boys,” he said, his voice shaking slightly. “That one’s got a little more than hellfire in him, I think. Best to let the devil alone now, so long as it keeps its distance.” He spat at the ground near Barakus’ feet, who glared up with what little strength he had left, and the elves stepped around the bloody and bruised pair to slip quietly away from the scene they had created.  
Barakus turned over, wincing at the pain that went lancing through him, to check on the woman. “Hey, are you -” he gasped. The woman was far worse off than when he’d first come across her. Bruises were forming on her red skin, and though the blood didn’t show on her skin itself, her clothing and the ground around her was stained with it. Overwhelmed with feelings of inadequacy and regret - and a brief fear and excitement of the lightning that had burst from his hands - Barakus let the pain take him over, and he passed out on the cobbles.

Barakus woke up groaning in pain. Every inch of him ached like it had never ached before. He glanced down and winced at the pattern of bruises across his chest. Putting a hand to his face, he hissed in pain and quickly pulled his hand away as he felt the wound over his eye. With a wash of relief, he realised that he could still see from both eyes, and sighed slightly - then regretted the action, as pain lanced through his ribs. He sat up slightly, trying his best to ignore his muscles begging him not to, and looked around.  
He was in his home, in his bed. That at least was a comfort. His father, Amakos, was sat in a simple chair at the foot of his bed. Simple, like everything else in the family’s home. Amakos glanced up at his son, and a relieved smile grew on his face as he stood to his feet.  
“Got yourself into quite a situation, huh son?” His expression fell into concern as he moved to kneel by Barakus’ head.  
“Hey, father.” Barakus smiled slightly. “How long have I been out? How did I get back here?”  
“No more than a few hours. And a stranger brought you back here, we didn’t recognise him, and he wasn’t elven - that’s all we could tell.” The elder tiefling frowned slightly. “Thank the gods that he did, though - what the hell were you thinking, Barakus? You could have gotten yourself killed! You very nearly did! You’re a smart boy, but you’re not a fighter. We’ve always known that much, and there’s no shame in it, but your strengths lie elsewhere. Not in combat.”  
Barakus frowned and turned away as he remembered the bolts of lightning that jumped from his fingertips. “Father, I -” He paused. “What’s this?”  
Both men turned their attention to a small package by Barakus’ bed. It was small and unassuming, a spherical shape wrapped in brown paper with string tied round it.  
Amakos shrugged. “The person who brought you home to us left it by you. We couldn’t sense any magical or ill intent from it, so saw no harm in leaving it there.” He picked up the object, weighing it carefully in his hand, and placed it on his son’s chest. “I’m sure you’re tired,” he said, getting to his feet. “I’ll leave you to yourself for a while. Call for me if you need me, alright?”  
“Of course, father. Thank you.”  
As Amakos left the room, Barakus picked up the package. It was a little heavier than he expected. Curiosity overtaking him, he tore off the brown paper, but his curiosity was only increased tenfold at what he found inside.  
A small glass sphere, no more than a couple of inches in diameter, was wrapped in circles of thin gold wire. Inside was an impossible whirl of fiery smoke, the red, orange, and black, dancing slowly around each other within the orb. Attached was a long golden chain. As Barakus turned the pendant round, carefully inspecting it, a faint buzzing noise hummed from inside the glass. Watching, he gasped slightly as a tiny wasp appeared from in the curls of smoke, hovered briefly, then retreated back into the depths of the black smoke. Quickly turning the pendant in his hands, Barakus searched for the curious insect once more, but it was, impossibly, nowhere within. Frowning in confusion, Barakus placed the chain around his neck. The pendant was a comfortable weight on his chest and somehow, strangely, Barakus felt it was important. The memory of the lightning sparking in his hands flooded back, and he willed it to return, concentrating all his might on bringing that small storm to his hands.  
A bolt of fire shot across the room and - thank the gods - out the window. Barakus winced. This magic, whatever it was, would take an awful lot of practice, it seemed.


	3. Age Twenty - An Exchange of Services

Barakus tilted his head to one side. His smile was less welcoming and more with the expression of a cat before it pounces on the mouse it has cornered, savouring the final moments of playing with its prey. He rested his chin on his hands and stared at the uncomfortable blue dragonborn before him.  
“Come now, Barroth,” he said smoothly. “I know you understand the benefits of making alliances with the right people. I won’t mention anything of your little side jobs, don’t you worry - your secret is safe with me.” He patted the thick leather-bound book at his hip, and the dragonborn snorted a small puff of smoke in disgust.  
“And why,” he sneered, “should I believe a word that comes from that hellish mouth of yours?”  
Barakus sighed. “What reason would I have to lie to you?” He said with clearly faked innocence. “I won’t pass on the details and proof I have of your alliance with those bandits - on one condition.”  
Barroth huffed. “Of course. Always a catch for you, isn’t there…”  
“It’s a simple thing I want, Barroth. As you can see, my… business, is starting to gain a little reputation. I’m known now, to some extent, for what I can do. And I’m expanding my horizons. But for that, I need help. Ideally, the help of a dear, dear friend.” He smiled a viper’s smile, and Barroth shuddered.  
“You’re no friend of mine, but something tells me I don’t have a choice.”  
“Oh, you sweet fool, of course you have a choice. You can choose to help me have access into the higher city whenever I require it, or you can choose to rot in a jail cell.” He raised an eyebrow. “I suggest you choose carefully.”  
Barroth’s fists clenched, and for a moment Barakus felt the dragonborn might attack him, and he muttered a quick protection spell - but it was unnecessary. Barroth slumped with a defeated sigh, Barakus’ smile grew. Checkmate.

His smile didn’t falter as he left the dragonborn in the quiet tavern corner. His turquoise robes flowing behind him, Barakus felt a sense of power and invincibility as he walked through the streets with confidence. Perhaps it was that feeling which urged his poor choice, or perhaps he was just a little too distracted, but as he brushed past a group of men passing him, his normally light fingers fumbled and one whirled round in anger, clutching at his disturbed coin purse.  
“Oi - oi, you!” The man stepped forward with a menacing glare. “What makes you think you can steal from me, eh?”  
Barakus stepped back slightly, hands raised defensively. “Sir, I apologise, there must be some kind of misunderstanding -”  
“A misunderstandin’, eh? That what it is?” The man took another step closer to Barakus, who quickly found himself against a wall. Glancing round for an escape route, he found none. “Well me and my boys ain’t so sure out about that, are we lads?” The other men had moved to pen in Barakus. Oh, how quickly the tables could turn - how quickly he could go from the cat to the mouse. Curse his carelessness, curse his recklessness, curse his overconfidence - but now was not the time for self-reflection.  
“Gentlemen, please, I’m sure we can come to some agreement -” He flinched as the man pulled his fist back, but he was reacting to a blow that never came. Barakus glanced back to see an unfamiliar hand holding the arm of his would-be attacker, stopping the man from taking his swing.  
“Hey, what are you -”  
“There’s no need for this,” the stranger said calmly. “The boy made a mistake. I’m sure he’s learnt his lesson.” He looked pointedly at Barakus, who in his confusion, had enough sense to bow his head demurely.  
The stranger smiled slightly at the larger man. “No harm was done, my friend. You’d be wasting your time here. I’m sure the boy receives enough scorn day to day. There is no need to add to this.”  
“Ain’t no such thing as ‘enough scorn’ for his kind,” the man spat at Barakus’ feet, but after a long glare he shrugged the stranger’s hand from his arm and stalked away, followed quickly by the other men, none of whom so much as glanced backwards.  
Barakus cleared his throat and stepped towards the stranger. “Thank you for stepping in there, I don’t know how I would have fared had you not. I owe you for -”  
The man cut him off abruptly, placing a heavy coin purse in his hand. Barakus looked up in shock.  
“I - I can’t take this from you.” He tried to hand the purse back to the man, but with a small smile the stranger pushed Barakus’ hand away and turned back, stepping quietly away. By the time he’d collected himself enough to follow, Barakus had lost the man into the crowds. He gritted his teeth, and pocketed the purse. Relieving others of their possessions, that was one thing. But being given coin with no explanation and without loan - the feeling of being indebted was one that made Barakus wholly and entirely uncomfortable.


	4. Age Twenty-Three - All's Fair in Love and War

Effranti was, when it came down to it, not all that different to Xybus. Sure, the populous was far less elven, and far less prejudiced, but what remained constant was that it was still a city. If Barakus had learnt one thing over the past few years since leaving Xybus, it’s that where there are people, there are secrets. What better place to search for such treasures than in the densely populated cities of Gaia?  
Effranti had been his base for the better part of half a year. He’d uncovered enough worthy tidbits on the journey north to support a far more lavish lifestyle than he’d ever experienced in Xybus, and Barakus was reluctant to ever return. He wouldn’t usually remain somewhere for so long, as his line of work painted many a target on his back, but there was something here worth staying for.  
The tiefling rolled over in his bed and looked at the sleeping half-elven man, his expression blank and unreadable out of habit. Marfyr slept like a baby, which suited Barakus just fine. The trusting idiot was blissfully unaware of Barakus’ goals within the city.  
Marfyr himself was not the thing worth staying for. Hardly. Barakus didn’t make a habit of getting attached to people - hells, he’d left his own family without so much as a goodbye - but people were easy to manipulate and twist to his own will.  
The half-elf was a financial advisor for Penin Elfrara, a tyrannical nobleman of Effranti. He was disliked, but not openly, which made him a perfect target - so much so, in fact, that Barakus found his reputation had preceded him into the city, and he had been hired to find dirt on Elfrara. However, being the paranoid ruler that he was, the noble kept as many of his secrets as close to his chest as he could. So Barakus decided to get to him through those in his inner circle, and Marfyr had become the perfect candidate.  
Lonely and overworked, Marfyr had welcomed Barakus’ listening ear and comforting voice, assisted by more than a few ales. Over time, the tiefling built trust by sharing false secrets and personal memories, reinforcing the bond he needed Marfyr to believe was there. It didn’t take long, to Barakus’ utter delight, for the half-elf to fall in love.  
It was an easy enough emotion to fake, especially with Marfyr being so clueless about such things, and Barakus quickly had one of the closest men to Elfrara hanging on his every word. Now, a few months on, and Barakus had what he had come for: unnerving and criminal details of a deal Elfrara had cut with the local thieves guild to satisfy his unnatural and immoral cravings. Either this would be enough to persuade Elfrara to act in accordance with his client’s wishes, or the knowledge would become public, and the ruler would be more hated than ever before. Whatever the outcome, Barakus had already won.  
Marfyr groaned as Barakus stood from the bed.  
“Hey, where are you going?” Barakus turned back to see the half-elf rubbing his eyes and trying to suppress a yawn. “It’s still so early. Come back to bed.”  
The tiefling faked a warm smile. “I have a little business up at the palace, I shouldn’t be long. Go back to sleep.”  
“No, no,” Marfyr said, sitting up with a sigh. “I ought to go with you, I have a few things to take care of myself.”  
Barakus gritted his teeth. “That really won’t be -” He paused. “Actually, sure. I think that’s a good idea. Do you mind coming with me actually, I need to speak with Penin, and I’m much more likely to get an audience with you in attendance.”  
Marfyr grinned as he stood, and placed a small kiss on Barakus’ cheek. “Sure thing. Anything to help you out.”  
It took everything Barakus had not to let his tail flick with a sly confidence as the pair made their way to the palace. This had suddenly gotten far more interesting.

The meeting, of course, went in his favour. Barakus tilted his head slightly and raised an eyebrow. Elfrara’s face had been drained of colour for several minutes by the end, his lips pursed and his eyes wide in anger and fear. Marfyr was stood just behind the ruler’s chair in the private meeting room, his shocked face stained with tears as he realised the truth of the situation, trying desperately to hide this all from Elfrara - but the ruler paid little attention to the half-elf. Barakus’ face was neutral: despite being in the room with a nobleman, it was clear who held the power here.  
“Now, my lord,” Barakus said smoothly and calmly. “It seems to me that you have two choices before you. The one that is most likely appealing to you most in this moment is to have me killed where I stand, and have your frankly disgusting secret die with me. However, I must remind you that my client already has this information, and should I not report back, your actions shall be known by all. However,” he smiled, savouring the victory, “if I report back, and my client sees that you have acted in accordance with their wishes within the week, your secret shall remain just that. The choice is yours, but I’m sure best option for your reign is clear.” He lifted his chin and eyed Elfrara, awaiting the inevitable. A few tense moments passed, and Barakus began to fear that he’d made a mistake, but then the familiar slump overtook the ruler and Barakus allowed himself the sweet feeling of victory. He gave a small bow. “Until we meet again, my lord. I wish you well.” He grinned a sly grin and span on his heel, leaving the room without so much as a glance back.

It wasn’t until he reached the palace gates that Marfyr caught up to him.  
“Barakus - Barakus, wait, please!”  
He sighed, and turned. He really should have expected this - that’s what he got for wanting an audience, he supposed.  
“What is it, Marfyr? I’m a busy man.”  
The half elf had been crying, that much was clear. “How could you… how could you do that to me, to us, I could have been killed for treason if I hadn’t lied my way out of it, I thought you loved me -”  
“Oh, Marfyr, you poor thing,” Barakus said, his voice dripping with malevolent sweetness. “You poor, lovely, trusting little thing. Lies come so easy to your ears when coated in honey, don’t they?”  
Marfyr frowned slightly, his breathing ragged. “How much of it was true, Barakus? How much of what you told me was real?”  
Barakus let out a small chuckle. “Do you remember the time I loaned you my coat, when the wind picked up and the sand was biting your face? Every word since that day was a lie.”  
“But…” Marfyr’s face twisted into bitterness. “That was the first night we met.”  
Barakus smirked. “Precisely.” He turned away from the half-elf and began to walk away.  
“Barakus, please, I love you.”  
The tiefling paused, and glanced over his shoulder. “Pity the fool. You fell in love with lies, Marfyr. You never knew me. And now, you’d do well to forget me.”  
He walked on, ignoring the anguished shouts from the half-elf behind him, but to his relief, he wasn’t followed any further. The job was over now, and he was already mulling over the next one, the broken hearted half-elf all but forgotten. He had better things to concern himself with.


End file.
